Stalker
by crazigurl181818
Summary: He's gone insane. He's watching. And he wants you dead.


He's gone insane. He's watching. And he wants you dead.

No yaoi. Only slight mentions of death and stalker tendencies. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

* * *

The only light in the otherwise pitch black room came from the hundreds of computers scattered about the darkness. The light glinted off the glasses of the only living thing present, obscuring sky blue eyes that were flickering about. There came not a sound from the man curled up in a swivel chair, arms tucked up and arms wrapped around his knees.

The blue gaze settled on a screen portraying a man with thick blonde hair, sleep-tousled out of its usual slicked-back look. The man was currently stretching, shirt lifting to show a toned stomach, and his mouth was open in a yawn. There was no sound to accompany the video, but the glasses-clad specter knew the sounds would consist of shuffling and cheerful Italian singing drifting from the kitchen.

Next, the eyes slid to the right and observed a head of shining golden hair still buried in lavender sheets. Two wine glasses sat on the nightstand beside the large bed, and that, coupled with the extra lump under the covers, strongly suggested a romp the night previous. The shadow-shroud man sneered, and light reflected off perfect teeth.

Focus once again shifted, and the sneer deepened as another blonde head of hair was revealed, this one wheat in color and just as shaggy as the color suggested. A pen grasped in a pale hand flew over stacks of paperwork, green eyes narrowed in concentration. It was so like this man to be awake, dressed and working at this early in the morning. But upon closer inspection, maybe he had never gone to bed. There was a smear of purple under each eye, and usually immaculate clothing was slightly crinkled.

Moving on to monitors with more eastern-located cameras, the man regarded the hulking figure seated in an armchair with disdain and slight pity. Violet eyes stared, seemingly, right at him. But the expression was blank; the eyes unseeing. Years of turmoil and change had finally caught up, and the silver-haired individual seemed to be resetting. Well, watching him wasn't going to be entertaining at all.

The blue gaze skipped over two screens devoid of people and locked onto a desert scene. The floor was sand with only a low table as decoration. Curtains sectioned the room, presumably hiding sleeping quarters and the kitchen. A man sat at the table, slowly eating out of whatever was in the brown bowl set in front of him. A cloth covered the man's curly black hair, wrapped up into a turban. He portrayed no emotion, but the longer the blue-eyed man watched him, the more his face twisted until it was in an ugly scowl.

Finally, it was enough, and and he tore his eyes away from the live feed with a scoff. They were all idiots. Every single nation. They complained about interference, and then complained when he didn't come to their rescue. It was always complaints. No one ever had anything nice to say. Like they were any better. Couldn't get anything done even if they were about to be wiped out by alien invaders. Another scoff. He was a superpower. Did the world really think he couldn't read the atmosphere? But at least that meant his acting was working. Thank you, Hollywood. Ahh, how he hated them. But he was going to fix it. Already the plan was ripening. A lot of nations depended on him; through imports and exports, financial and military aid. The others he could take by force. He had enough firepower. Afterall, he didn't spend a majority of his country's money on the armed forces for no reason.

Thinking about taking the other countries down brought a smile to the man's face, slowly growing until it was full-blown maniacal grin. Oh how sweet would their defeat taste. The wretched agony in their delectable screams as everything that what was once theirs, everything important was ripped from them. They deserved it for everything they had done to him since he was a budding nation with no actual land to call his own. Every single one of them would be destroyed, DECIMATED, and all by his hand. He couldn't wait to crush them, pulverize them, grind their faces into the ground. Ah, but it wasn't time yet. Almost, but not quite.

The man frowned and glanced down at the watch that adorned his wrist. Sickly green numbers glowed back at him, stating with certainty that it was 1:38am. The blonde-haired man sneered but unfolded himself nonetheless. It was time to get a few hours of sleep. The cameras were all running smoothly and recording video, as well as sound, into multiple drives so he could review them later. He scanned the room just to make sure, and when satisfied, stood and stretched. His muscles were slightly stiff from sitting in the same position for hours on end. He left the steel-reinforced room into the bright hallway, sky blue eyes narrowed and blinking in protest to the change in lighting. The metal door slid shut behind him, locking with advanced technology and camouflaging to seamlessly blend with the wall.

A picture perfect smile appeared on the man's face, and America made his way to his room, visions of destruction and domination dancing in his head.


End file.
